


The Taste of Fear

by Cramp



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cramp/pseuds/Cramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jhresh is a newly minted Rattataki Sith sorcerer. And someone appears to be very interested in him. But when one has the interest in the dark powers of the Sith Empire, lessons are rarely easy. Or painless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Taste of Fear

Jhresh tapped his fingers against the line of silver studs that ran down his jaw, the few pieces of Rattataki honourmarks he had earned before being taken by the imperial slavers. It was a habit of his when nervous or thoughtful. And he was both now.

At his feet, neatly lying next to each other, their arms crossed serenely over their chests like ancient lords, were the two bodies of his old masters. Selak Tung, an influential and wealthy Kaas City aristocrat and his wife, Lui, had taken him away from the construction crews and trained him into a manservant, imparting to him good graces and a servile attitude. He had been something of a luxury to them, a chance to show off their 'barbarian alien' slave to their equally wealthy and bored friends. They had delighted in having him serve their drinks and demonstrating his courteous manners. But for all that, and despite the occasional use of the shock collar, they had been good masters, uncaring but not unkind, and the work had been tedious but easy. It was a far cry from hauling and cutting massive stone blocks for twelve hours of every day. And it had brought him to the attention of the Sith, which had ended his days of slavery forever. So it looked like he owed the Tungs some kind of debt. He frowned under his hood, his chalk white skin looking even paler against the black of his robes.

He stepped away from the bodies, his robes whispering around his legs. The house looked just the same as when he had been working here, a few new pieces of art in the hall the only changes he could spot. Before entering, he had been harbouring the hope that the changes within him would be reflected by a change of his perspective on the mansion - that it would appear cramped, that he would suddenly be aware of its flaws. But it was no use, the building still humbled him, every corner and doorway seeming to scream: _You do not belong here alien!_ His frown deepened and he tugged on the edges of his hood, as if trying to hide within its depths.

He could sense nothing in the Force. This in itself was unusual - his reading suggested that acts like murder left strong emotional eddies in the Force, hatred and anger and fear billowing invisible clouds that lingered like the stench of blood at the scene of such a crime. But here there was nothing, not the bitter tang of fear nor the hot touch of anger. It was baffling. His tutors had always praised his powerful sensitivity to the undercurrents of the Force - a source of constant shame to his Rattataki warrior spirit - and emotions were usually like bright beacons to him. Either this had been a singularly robotic assassination, or the murderer was a masterful wielder of the Force, able to cover their tracks flawlessly.

A door slide open behind him and the cyborg agent, Alnilam, walked in, nodding with a finger pressed to her ear. His agent? His bodyguard? His... chaperone? It had not been made entirely clear to him what purpose she served and he suspected that Imperial Intelligence had a hand in her assignment. They played a dangerous game, trying to tame the Sith to their own purposes.

'My lord?' The agent asked, always hesitant with him. He supposed that was good and proper, that she fear the Sith, but he did not sense that she feared him - there was something in her past, some experience. There was a Sith she feared. Him, he suspected, she merely tolerated. He waved his hand, gesturing that she should continue. He may have been trained in the ways of the Force, but no one had taught him how to be a proper lord - he had been conditioned to serve for the greater part of his life for goodness sake!

'It was as I suspected, my lord. The Tungs were murdered with some kind of vibro-blade - probably a knife given the shape of the wounds. Selak, one stroke across the throat, and Lui, a killing blow under the ribs to the heart and another through the lungs. Given the lack of signs struggle and blood here, I posit that the bodies were arranged like this after the attacks - which most likely happened in the solar and the foyer.'

Jhresh nodded vaguely. Why was he being told all these things. He was Sith, not an officer of the law. Yes, he supposed that he knew the Tungs, but he certainly wished them no ill will, nor gave much thought to their well-being. There were others much more deserving of his ire, those he had sworn to reward for their actions. The jagged scar in his cheeks pulled as he frowned.

Alnilam was a bloom of nervousness and he turned to her. 'What is it, Agent? I have told you before that I value your expertise. Do not dither in sharing it.'  Was that the right thing to say? Did he give her too much freedom or too little? The truth was that he _did_ value her experience and knowledge. Should they come across an ancient Sith tomb, or a holocron or a alchemical monster he would happily take the lead -  to his embarrassment he had adored being let loose in the temple archives, but here he was without the tools to make useful commentary.

Still, the cyborg looked apprehensive, but she straightened. 'Can you think of any enemies you have, my lord?'

Jhresh was taken aback. ' _My_ enemies, Agent? I do not know much of the practices of law enforcement, but surely you should be investigating the enemies of the Tungs?' He gestured toward the bodies, the argument clear.

The agent shook her head, 'Intelligence keeps detailed files on valuable people my lord, and I've been having them cross-reference the circumstances here. Does the name Kalo mean anything to you, my lord?'

_A friendly smile. Warm eyes despite their lack of colour. Rough hands, so big compared to my own. I remember them clasping my wrist or patting my back. He had a laugh like a soto monkey, caused more outbreaks of amusement than any of the awful jokes he used to tell. Strong as a rancor, and proud. Proud despite everything._

'Kalo was a fellow slave when I was with the construction crews. He looked... we looked out for each other. How does he relate to any of this, Agent?' Jhresh asked. He did not like that Alnilam had access to this information about his past. She knew far more about him than he knew about her, could see through any act he might thus put up.

'I regret to tell you that the slave Kalo was found murdered in his bunkhouse two weeks ago.'

Jhresh froze. Kalo, dead. The man was a colossus. Jhresh could hardly imagine someone so full of vitality and raw strength as a corpse. He had planned one day, when his duties gave him the time, to free Kalo, to thank him for his friendship and for saving a young Rattataki's life more than once, when it would have been easier to let him die. Who had done this? Who had taken that debt?

The Tungs had been nothing to Jhresh - distant employers. Kalo had been a friend.

'That was not an easy connection to make my lord, but there is more. The slave overseer, Kesser Fek was murdered last month. Again, a vibroblade weapon . And more recently, the acolyte Hanta Ly'sinmur, the murder being committed on Korriban itself. It is Intelligence's belief that someone is striking at you, my lord.'

A litany of death. Kesser Fek had been a Trandoshan slaver. He had once refused to sell Jhresh to the bloodsport pits of Nar Shaddaa - the usual destination for Rattataki slaves, and place where Jhresh might have found honour, but most likely, a quick death. It was a small act of kindness. Hanta had been one of Jhresh's fellow students, also an alien. She was twi'lek and clever with a quick, sharp wit that had stung Jhresh more than once, but always in a way that left him smiling. They had been as friendly with each other as competing acolytes could be and shared hushed, giggling fumbles when the lights had been turned off in the evenings.

It was a distraction. Someone was sending him a message. Striking invisibly at those whom he had been close to. But why? And who? The servants of Darth Skotia? Trying to take a kind of revenge on him? But that was unthinkable - their target would surely be Zash, the mastermind of Skotia's death. No, it was someone who knew him. Someone who knew him better than almost anyone in the galaxy.

'Can you think of anyone who would do this to you, my lord?' asked Alnilam, professional and courteous as ever.

Jhresh shook his head, mind reeling, a cold bead of sweat running down his neck.

'I can think of no one.'

 

 


	2. The City of the Shadow Eternal

The city of the Shadow Eternal. Kaas City.

Above, the slate-grey clouds roiled, an ever-storm, always threatening to break and sometimes doing so with great glory – blinding the twilight creatures with the harsh white glare of lightning flashes, the bolts unerringly seeking the tallest of the city’s spires, their thunderous retorts the barks of a divine colossus. But for all the whip lashes of blood-warm rain, the storm never cleared over the homeworld.

Jhresh walked the streets, his head bowed in thought. He could have just as easily taken one of the waiting skytaxis but he had no destination in mind and more he found the act of moving conducive to thought. He would be restless otherwise, prone to pacing as he had during his studies in the Temple libraries. Besides, despite himself, he _liked_ Kaas City. The kilometres-high towers, the cool, strong lines of the architecture, the monuments that proclaimed the glory of the Sith Empire. He even liked the sky. The way the clouds boiled and shifted, ever-changing, their patterns and chaos clinging to the cusp of being laden with meaning – looking up, Jhresh felt it was the world trying to talk to him, if only he could hear it.

It helped that life was easy in the city. Yes, he was alien and thus even the lowliest imperial retained a sense of superiority when dealing with him but he was also Sith, and there was no class higher. As he walked, people parted around him, mindful of his robes and the ever present threat of the lightsaber on his hip. He was privileged here, scion of the Emperor’s own house. But it did not stop him from feeling a twinge of disloyalty. He knew what he _should_ be thinking. _Ease makes you soft boy_. _The untested warrior dies in his first battle_. Even the dense Dromund Kaas jungles, stuffed full with vicious predators, could not compare with the most gentle of Ratattak’s environs. Jhresh’s homeworld was lethal, every lifeform, every geological shape seemingly designed to murder and maim, and it bred a lethal people. A people who prided themselves on their toughness.

_Because they have to!_

Jhresh argued with himself often and chided himself for it. Surely no other Sith was so riddled with doubt! It would make him weak, clumsy with the Force if he was not careful. He knew what he should do. He should keep spouting the hollow words he did not quite believe and hope that someday he thought them true.

A minor matter in the grand scheme of things. Somewhere out there was a person unknown plotting against him. It truly beggared belief. Try as he might Jhresh could not think of anyone he had wronged so greatly to merit such a reaction – and certainly not anyone with the resources to commit the apparent deeds.

He thought suddenly of Tomat, a wiry Twi’lek who had taken against him in the slave pits. Once or twice, Jhresh had been sure he had seen murder in the Twi’lek’s eyes and the backwash of emotion from his burgeoning Force sensitivities had certainly terrified him. Still, Tomat was toiling at the foot of some stone construction, or more likely, dead and forgotten. A slave’s hatreds were castles of sand, fragile and ephemeral in the face of time and larger forces.

The only thing that came to mind was Jhresh’s position – his apprenticeship to the Sith Lord. Could it be that someone coveted his place, or perhaps worked to strike through him at his master? It was indeed possible, but why so convoluted a method?

Jhresh stopped up short.

_Could it be that they fear ME?_

He chuckled and shook his head. Now that seemed unbelievable.

His meanderings had taken him past the Faceless Colonnade, a wide avenue lined by the restored statues of Sith Lords recovered from Korriban. As the plaques informed, the archaeologists had been unable to discover the identities of the fearsome masters – so their miens, stern with weathered age, remained unknown. For reasons lost to the midst of time, city planning and demographics, the Colonnade marked the entrance to Kaas City’s financial district, where office blocks two miles high housed corporations that stretched their grasping fingers across the light years of interstellar space. Planetary economies were sized up and a magic more mysterious than the darkest corners of the Force was worked by quants and accountant-engineers.

But it was late in the night and even in the capitol, the gears of commerce turned slower when the office lights were off. Jhresh moved from spotlight to spotlight, a figure of death emerging from the darkness, black-hooded and white-faced. He picked his route at random, leaving the main thoroughfare with barely a glance upwards and turning down a side street that might have been a cave, so narrow was the strip of sky above.  

And much like a cave, it was home to its own dangerous denizens. Jhresh was not aware of the movement as a shape slide out to block the end of the street, but he sensed the hatred that radiated from the figure and his head snapped up, his fist clenching in his gloves with a creak of leather. Slowly, keeping his gaze on the unmoving figure for as long as he was able, he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

_Ah yes, the most rudimentary of traps._

Behind him, covering his “escape” was another person, arms crossed over their thin chest, a hint of a smirk all that could be seen of their face. A cruel pleasure dripped from this one – they were keenly looking forward to this.

So, this was it then. The culmination of all those murders. Jhresh could not help but feel disappointed. The ambush lacked the finesse he had expected and the actors were crude, blunt – a man in a rubber monster suit rather than a creature of slithering dread. Jhresh examined his emotions, found he was not feeling anything like the fear he had anticipated. He would face them down and these predators would not find him an easy kill.

All in all, something of a let down.

The figure in front approached him, resolving into a hooded human, her lower jaw replaced by brute cybernetics. She flicked back her hood with an angry gesture and her flashed with fury. Her hair had been hacked short and Jhresh, who even had a preference for hairless women, thought the style did not suit her face. She pointed a metal finger at his frown and opened her mouth but before the words could emerge, Jhresh butted in.

‘Why?’ he asked. At the very least, if he was going to kill two people or be murdered by the same, he wanted the answer to that question. It seemed to throw off his ambusher though. Her brow furrowed and she bared teeth, her lower metal set shaped into vicious fangs. Like she could feel her momentum slipping away, she shook her head and jabbed her finger into Jhresh’s chest.

‘Stuff it, slave. You have one chance to answer before we start hurting you.’ Behind him, Jhresh could hear the other stalking closer. He absorbed the “slave” jibe – that he would burn as fuel later. Call him slave would they? Time enough for them to regret that.

‘Where is the artefact now?’

Jhresh’s shoulders slumped.

_Ah._

‘It’s not in your chambers, nor the Darth’s. Who has it? Where is it?’

So mundane. There were not the invisible assassins of his friends and patrons but merely the proxies of Sith politicking. No doubt some rival Lord or Darth had heard of his recent find and wanted to steal the history for themselves. Jhresh chuckled, a reaction that made his ambusher shy back warily. He did not care one whit for these creatures but he supposed that he had to at least make the effort.

‘Who sent you?’ he asked imperiously. The cyborg woman growled her reply, reaching to her waist to draw and activate her lightsaber. The ruby blade gave everything a bloody cast that seemed eminently suitable given the circumstances.

‘Last chance, filth. Where is it?’ The lightsaber swung up to point at Jhresh’s chest, hissing as it vaporised the moisture in the air. To most it was the deadly threat that heralded the end of life but to Jhresh it spoke of other things. Knowledge. Trials. Ascension.

He sighed and brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his fingers across his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. His other hand gestured dismissively.

A shadow detached from the wall and broke down into a lattice of tessellating hexagons drawn in a blue-white glow. The other ambusher barked a shocked warning as the stealth field collapsed but it was already too late, Agent Anlinam was punching her vibroknife through the back of the Sith’s skull and into her brain. Her eyes rolling back, the cyborg crumpled into  heap of flesh and metal, robotic parts twitching as cybernetic neurons tried to make sense of the dying organic signals. Quick as a pouncing vine cat Jhresh spun, marshalling his power even as he moved. At the culmination of his turn he unleashed it, fingers spread wide, joints creaking with the strain.

A storm of lightning crashed into the ambusher, writhing and spitting bolts of power that smashed him back, forcing him into the air to slam him into the ground a good twenty yards back, screaming the whole way. Purple and blue arcs traced burning lines along the walls of the street and the few small windows shattered along its length.

Jhresh cut off the flow of the Force and let the tension seep out of his body. His hands smoked and it felt like he had seared the nerves from his fingertips to his shoulders. But he was used to that. No power came without a price – that was the lesson of the Sith.

Anlinam moved up to his shoulder. He had been aware of her shadowing him since he had left the Tung estate, attuned as he was to her presence. For once he was glad of her stalking and how readily she interpreted his motions. These were not the first Sith he had killed, but they always went down easier when they were surprised.

‘A most impressive demonstration, my lord,’ said the agent, wiping her blade clean on a cloth. Jhresh nodded, in this instance it appeared that Alnilam genuinely was impressed – it would not do to preen about that though, he should act as if that did not please him, that it was his due as a master of the mysterious Force.

‘Check that one. If he still lives find out who their master is.’ He pointed to the still smoking body.

‘As you command, my lord. Should he...’ the agent paused, licking her lips as she searched for the appropriate words. ‘...survive the encounter?’

Jhresh hesitated. The ambusher was helpless now, as thoroughly disarmed as anyone could be, a danger to no one. In the same position, Jhresh knew he would pray that his life would be spared. But there was no room for mercy in the politics of the Sith and more there had to be a price. One could not challenge him and hope to walk away from defeat, else there would be no end to it. He hardened his heart.

‘He shall not.’

To her credit, the agent betrayed not a flicker of fear as she approached the Sith to torture him.

_It must be like poking a wounded rancor for her_... he thought, watching her. And then, with a last stretching of his fingers, he turned from the scene, lifted the hem of his robe and stepped daintily over the robotic corpse at his feet.

His night had a strange symmetry to it – four bodies made, a pair each side. Once again Jhresh felt that Dromund Kaas, secret sanctuary of the Dark Side for so long, was trying to speak to him.

He opened his mind and strained to hear.

 

 


	3. The Nightmare Games

This was not like waking from sleep.

Awareness struck him like a slap. There was nothing and then the cacophony of senses. Chills settling on his skin, the metal hardness beneath his body, an ache in his muscles that radiated dully in his neck and around his spine. Conscious thoughts emerged from the raw perceptions, struggling mightily against the inertia of darkness, more intense for all that, pure and free from internal dialogue.

_This was not his bed_

Jhresh snapped his eyes open, jolting like a current had been passed through him. He pushed off the floor and twisted into a low crouch, eyes wide open with feverish horror. Head ticking from side to side he roved his gaze around the unfamiliar room, breathing with barely restrained panic. Brutal starkness, more severe than even Sith austerity greeted him. A room , square and barely wide enough for his body to lie flat, its only ornamentation a panel that must have been a door but without lock, handle nor hinges.

Someone had done something to him. It was the only explanation. The danger was not immediate and Jhresh rose from his crouch, his lips once move covering his teeth. He had no recollection of the night just past – if it were just one... – only reclining in his bed. Then nothing. Like a veil being dragged down over his mind he had been utterly helpless. Powerful drugs maybe but as Jhresh did the mental exercises to catalogue his body's state he felt none of the after effects of such a poisoning. His mind was otherwise clear, his muscles responsive. He felt no nausea or weakness.

He frowned, his cheeks tugging down at the ugly scars that cut through them. The Force. Were such things possible? To be able to reach out and turn a consciousness on and off like a droid? The powers of the Dark Side were insidious and there were paths that even he had not researched. He shivered, the bottom dropping from his stomach and his mouth drying up. This display of strength was terrifying and it spoke to him in the language of the assassin that had struck down his acquaintances and friends. An invisible hand squeezed his chest in such a vice that for a moment that Jhresh thought he was under attack. Quickly, he marshalled his thoughts, turned his terror into a fuel to power his meditative techniques.

He had immediately been aware of his nakedness of course. His cobalt grey tattoos continued down his neck to the top of his chest and despite his Rattataki origins, he felt vulnerable without his robes. But it was now that Jhresh became suddenly aware of the thin bracelet around his left wrist. There had been something missing in his meditations, an emptiness that had eluded him. Pausing in his pacing he stared at the door – mind unwilling to formulate the experiment into words. He tentatively reached out his hand and  _pushed_.

Nothing. The flood of power that normally inhabited him was gone. He was hollow, bereft. Again he gathered his strength, roaring as he shoved at the air, willing the Force to pour out of him. There was not even a stir in the air. He hissed through clenched teeth, demanding a reaction. He raged and fumed, upturning all his emotions into his act, sweat prickling at his brow, fingers curved into claws. Nothing. Less than nothing. Jhresh broke, a scream tearing out from the back of his throat and he pounded his fist against the solid door, ignoring the pain his gaze fixed on the band of metal around his arm and he grimaced, digging his fingernails into his wrist trying to rip away the bracelet.

Some kind of inhibitor, in his rage he could not recognise its manufacture or design – baroque and alien. He did not care and yanked, ignoring the tug of his skin, blind to the filaments that burrowed under his flesh. Then came the pain. It was pure and unadulterated by medium. This was not the Force channelled as lightning, or the crude burn of blistering heat – it was the nerves screaming, the brain firing every single receptor it had. Jhresh arched his back like a bow, every muscle instantly taut, his tongue nearly severed by his teeth. He pissed himself and almost fainted and with his balance lost he collapsed to the floor, unable to even move his arm to protect his head, his forehead cracking hard against the metal.

It was difficult to tell when the pain ended and only the echoes remained, it turned off so abruptly. Jhresh curled up, cradling himself, hugging his arms around himself and trying to burrow into his own embrace. The ache in his face was almost a relief, so mild in comparison, something to focus on besides that blinding memory. He had been a slave, had been a victim of a shock collar. This was something else. The collars were painful and an indignity, but there was no force on the galaxy that could motivate Jhresh to make another attempt on the bracelet. He blinked away his tears, shaking, shame choking off his breaths. He was easily controlled it seemed. Slowly he pushed himself up, shuffling weakly to the wall, moving with the palsied motions of a decrepit.

What was this? Why do this to him? Did his stalker need to see him humiliated before killing him or did they have ulterior motives? It would not be the first time someone had tried to control the Sith, to bend one to their own purposes. It was practically a sport for the Darths, though their usual playthings were self-righteous Jedi. For the longest time Jhresh had resigned himself to the fact that his life would be at the mercy of others – a slave was subject to the arbitrary whim of fate more than any other. But once his natural inclinations towards the Force were discovered he had slowly shed that skin. It had been gradual but he had grown into a new shape, one that recognised that there was a hierarchy above him but that if he was diligent and cunning, his powers could protect him, forge out his own space in the world where he would answer only to himself.

In an instant he had been thrown back to his knees, a slave to whatever was coming. Without the Force he was nothing. A moderately intelligent mind trapped in a clumsy and scrawny body. Sad, a Sith without access to the Force, like a vine cat with no legs. Jhresh scoffed piteously. If he was so easily disarmed perhaps he deserved this fate.

_No_

Jhresh shuddered, head hanging down. There was another part of him. Old and white as a bled out human. Something he had tried to bury for the conflict with his studies had so shamed him. The Rattataki warrior spirit was still within him somewhere. The corner of his mind that laughed at scholars and would rather burn than read a tome if it meant a warm fire. He was born of a people so resourceful, so unwilling to just lay down and die they had survived a planet that had declared war on every living thing. A Rattataki mercenary looked at a battlefield and thanked the ancestors for a little bit of relaxation before having to head back to the homeworld. Peace was for the dead they said. And he was not yet dead.

It was not a bolt of inspiration, but it was something. Enough to get him to his feet at least. He found that while the pain from the bracelet had been unendurable it had no lingering effects. That was something. He mastered his breathing, settled into his body and began to catalogue his resources. If he had survived the jungles of his youth, then he could make something of a cell.

The puddle of piss on the floor he judged he could safely ignore. Above his head was a light fitting with two vents either side of it. They were thin slits, Jhresh wasn't convinced he would even be able to slide a finger into them let alone use them as an escape. And anyway, both were well out of his reach, more than twice his height away. The walls were sheer and solid, a kind of bonded concrete and plastic – there would be no chipping through it. At the very least he would be able to dash his brain out on them if it came to that.

That left the door.

He padded towards it and brushed his fingers over the cool surface. The seams where the door fit into the wall were hair thin. Starting from the beginning, Jhresh lowered his body, set his shoulder against the door and shoved. There was not an ounce of give in it. Sliding his feet from side to side he tried to get some purchase on the smooth floor – his pushing was doing more to force him backwards than move the door. After a few more grunting efforts he had to conclude that the door far exceeded his meagre strength.

He tapped his fingers against his honourmarks. Conceivably there might be some mechanism within the room that controlled the door – in case of emergency or if the automatic systems failed. He rapped his knuckles over it, section by section, searching for any changes in tone, a point of weakness he could exploit. Jhresh wasn't hopeful, but he was determined.

With a hiss, the door slid backwards and up.

Jhresh moved back into a guarded stance but no one entered and the space behind the door was empty. He gave it another long minute, his senses straining for any hint of his attacker. There was nothing and he was ever conscious of the possibility of the door slamming shut again, trapping him once more. He did not like that he was stepping down a path set by another, but he could see no other way open to him. He angled his viewpoint so he could see as much as possible through the doorway. A corridor, just as stark as his cell, just as empty. Cautiously he emerged, head swinging so he could scan the space.

As soon as his foot was clear of the doorway, the door slammed down, neatly fitting into its niche once more. Jhresh frowned, his hands clenching into fists. Being toyed with had left ugly scars on his body in the past and he could not escape the feeling that this time it would be even worse.

The corridor was just an extension of his cell, long and featureless apart from another door set into the wall at the far end. Briefly he considered continuing his attempt to find another option but he overruled himself. Better to bring the game to its climax sooner rather than later. Whoever it was that had imprisoned him clearly felt they held all the cards. Jhresh doubted they would have been so remiss as to forget the handy trapdoor that led out of their dungeon. So he walked towards the door, unhurried but nervous. He swallowed constantly and could not help but jolt when the door opened at his approach.

The next room was large, round with a high domed ceiling and a series of doors set into the walls. Across from where Jhresh stood, a camera shifted on the wall. It was obvious enough – when it could have been hidden or disguised – that Jhresh knew he was supposed to be aware of it, to know that he was being watched. He raised his chin, put on a show of defiance.

'Show yourself coward! I do not fear you!' He shouted, glaring into the unblinking black lens. His words felt as hollow as his power. He knew he was radiating an aura of fear that even the most brutish of acolytes could perceive. There was no reply from anyone, not even the mocking laughter that the Sith seemed to practice incessantly.

The hiss of a door. At first Jhresh was despondent – another doorway, another empty chamber, but when his gaze found the open portal he was shocked to see another figure emerge. His heart surged in his chest. The figure was a man, naked like Jhresh and of a similar build, but human. For some reason he wore a plain white oval mask, a stripe or slit where his eye level would be. Was it another prisoner, the warden? Jhresh could not tell, though the man did not wear a bracelet on his wrist.

Jhresh called out, wary and trying to keep his distance as the man tentatively moved towards him.

'Who are you? What is going on? Have you done this to me?'

The human made no reply, or his mask muffled his words, but he continued to move closer. Even without the Force Jhresh could tell that he was nervous or afraid. His hands shook , raised as they were in front of him.

Jhresh held up his hand. 'Wait. Tell me what 's going on. Come no closer!'

Something was driving the human despite his fears and with a scream, he launched himself at Jhresh, swinging his fists in an attack. Like all who had trained in the temples, Jhresh had practiced unarmed combat forms, so he was not completely shocked by the sudden assault. But it had not been an area of much interest to him, and his expertise did not go far beyond those classes he was ordered to attend. Many Sith neglected the unarmed styles, sure in the knowledge that they would never be far from their sabre. Jhresh doubly so, for he had used what spare moments he had to delve into the mysteries of the Force.

So it was more the conditioning of his body and endurance that saved him in those opening moments. His arms sprang into the guard position, deftly blocking the human's strikes, turning them aside with defensive forms. Once the shock of the fight wore off and a kick bought him some breathing room, Jhresh could tell that the human was no master. His forms were clumsy and he did not have the attitude of one long practiced in murder. He shuffled closer, ducked under a wild punch and hammered his knee into the human's ribs.

The human grappled, arms flailing around Jhresh's back and neck. Both were breathing heavily, trying to find purchase and Jhresh realised that he had judged too quickly. The human was afraid, true, but he had enough training that his body moved in automatic ways, hands seeking out weak points, looking to cut off his breath. He struggled, struggling for leverage of his own. He twisted at the waist, jerking the human over and they both crashed to the floor, unwinding like snakes to move to an advantageous position.

The human's knee hammered again and again into his stomach but Jhresh was on top of him, straining, tendons standing out from his white skin like folds in a taut sheet. He had managed to push his forearm down onto the human's neck, just below the edge of the mask. His teeth were clenched together and his body burned but he held the position. Little by little the human began to weaken, clawing desperately at Jhresh's sides and shoulder, dragging up blood with his nails. The thumping of his legs became little more than a shove and then stopped. The human stopped struggling and Jhresh rolled off him to the floor, chest heaving.

'Why?!' he screamed at the room. What did this  _prove_? What was the point? That he could kill? Jhresh had done that many times, as a student and as a Sith. Had he proven that he did not need the Force to fight?

His sweat cooled on his skin. The silence and the space was oppressive.

The sibilant hiss of a mechanism. Jhresh could not even find the energy to stir himself so he let his head fall to the side. Another masked figure stepped through the doorway. She was a woman. Rattataki, tattoos waving from ankle to head. She had a tight, athletic physique, muscles clearly defined and her every movement was graceful and assured. She bounced on the spot, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

_I can't go on_

Wearily, Jhresh rolled to his feet. He kept his eyes on the woman, shaking his arms to loosen them. Without thinking he reached for the Force and was once again disappointed when nothing answered him.

The Rattataki beckoned him over with a flick of her fingers. He shook his head in reply. Let her make the first move, he would not commit himself if he did not have to. She shrugged, and in between the battering pain that followed, Jhresh wished he had paid more attention to his martial arts.

She kept him at a distance with her powerful legs, kicking with lightning fast strikes that peppered up and down his body. His head rang, his arms felt like rubber tubes and his thighs and shins felt splintered. At one point he managed to snatch at her leg, throwing her to the floor in the hopes of grappling with her, bringing his heavier body to bear, but she rolled over her shoulder and used her arms to spring up to her feet, punishing his temerity with a fast one-two to his stomach and knee.  
The truth was stark and simple. She was better than him. She had trained more, was faster and for the most part, stronger. While he managed to get a few decent shots in, she shrugged them off or ducked into them, her breathing even and steady. He was flagging, bleeding and bruised and his left leg felt tingly and numb beneath the ache of her blows.

If only he had his powers! He would have brushed aside this woman like an insect. Fried her with lightning or simply forced her to her knees with his will. Instead she was breaking him as easily as a parent might school a child. A blow to his shoulder slammed him to his own knees and he dropped his guard, blinded momentarily by the pain.

He rolled his head back to look at her. Her fists were clenched and it was the only sign of expression he could read with her mask on. Did she wish to gloat over him? Would the architect of his dismantling now appear to tell him the purpose of all this? It was not to be – she shifted stance and her leg swept up, ready to crash down for a final blow. Pathetic. He was pathetic without his power, a bug about to crushed underfoot.

He surged upwards, shoulder ramming into the underside of her leg, throwing her off balance. He powered up, lifting with his thighs until she was carried on his shoulder. Then he dropped her, levering her down, adding the strength of his arms so that she whipped towards the ground. She yelped, the only proper noise he had heard her make and then the back of her head smacked against the merciless floor. It was a wet sound that was hidden by the noise of her shoulders cracking after. Jhresh fell on top of her, close as if they were lovers, her leg pinned on his shoulder – their nakedness making it obscene. She wasn't moving, not even breathing, her chin trapped too close to her sternum for her to be alive. He found himself shaking and a deep revulsion wriggled through him as he tried to untangle himself from the dead limbs. On his feet again he staggered away.

There had to be a way out. This was a nightmare scenario. How many bodies would be flung at him to kill? How many more could he endure?

One more at least it seemed. Jhresh raised his hands and took a deep breath as another door hissed open.

A colossus stepped out of the darkness. Hugely proportioned, crimson red skin and bony plates and spurs curving wickedly from his joints. His body was layered in muscle and chopped with scars from all sorts of weapons. He too was masked, this pureblood Sith monster. Unlike the others he did not hesitate or hold back, rather he marched towards Jhresh, his intent clear.

But size was not everything. The Rattataki woman had been smaller than Jhresh yet she had been better than him at fighting. Jhresh knew of many acolytes who disguised their lethality in small bodies or a humble demeanour. The big had always been dominant. It gave them a confidence they may suited the playgrounds of children but was far out of proportion to the world of adults.

Jhresh leapt, scything his leg through the air at the Sith.

And was tossed to the ground.

The Sith had punched both of his huge fists into the meat of Jhresh's thigh, hard enough to spin him and numb his leg. He was still reeling on the ground when a red foot powered into his stomach, pummelling the wind from him and flipping him. He skidded across the smooth floor, gasping, sparks of light popping in his vision.

He had to get up. On the ground he was a dead man. His face would be stamped flat. He had to get up. His hands slid on the cold floor, seeking to push himself up. But the ground yawed and turned and one moment he was lying flat, the next he was clinging on to a cliff face. He blinked, trying to right his perceptions when hands closed around the back of his neck. He was dragged upwards, lifted effortlessly. The strength of the Sith must have been immense. He hung like a rag doll, limp and was turned so he faced the expressionless mask. It shifted, looking up towards the camera, as if seeking instruction.

Jhresh struck. Both hands whipped to slice against the thick neck of the Sith, who staggered and dropped him. Landing on his feet, his knee only buckling slightly he pressed the advantage. It was a failing of all big men – they always presumed victory before the fight was done. Jhresh's lips curled up into a grimace. If this was a test then he would pass it, no matter what they threw at him. Under everything he was Rattataki, born to kill-

The Sith moved with blistering speed and power. He recovered almost instantly from Jhresh's blows and after absorbing a few of his attacks, responded. He did not have a defensive form, he guarded with strikes that hammered into Jhresh's shins and forearms and he swatted away Jhresh's swings with an almost casual air. Five punches crashed against Jhresh's chest so fast the Sith's arms were red smears in the air. He felt like he was a ingot of metal on the anvil, being hammered flat.

He flopped to the ground, boneless, the iron tang of blood flooding his mouth. Something inside of him was broken he knew, every breath lanced pain into his chest. Sith acolytes were trained to deal with pain, to absorb it and use it to power themselves. Jhresh was approaching the limits of his training. He blinked away blood and tears. The pureblood was standing over him his head cocked, listening to something in his mask. He nodded and jogged over to one of the doors which opened briefly.

_No giving up Jhresh. That was what you promised..._

Every nerve in his body advising against it, Jhresh fell forward onto his hands, then lifted his foot to the ground, one then the other. Sweat streaming down his skin he rose, slow as a glacier. Not a slave any more.

When the pureblood returned there was something in his hand. It took a moment for Jhresh's befuddled mind to identify the metallic cylinder but there was no confusion when it was activated. The sizzle of air igniting, the retina burning colour. It was his lightsaber, in the hands of his enemy. The greatest shame of any warrior, let alone a Sith. The pureblood rolled the blade in his hand, loosening his wrist and Jhresh stepped back warily.

He was frightened to be sure. But more, he was confused by this move. The pureblood could have killed him three times over with his bare hands alone, the introduction of the weapon was entirely unnecessary. If there was something more to this nightmare, and Jhresh was convinced there was, then there was a reason for everything. But his mind, usually so sharp was so damned  _slow!_  His blood was running hot and he weaved, trying to present a more confusing target to the pureblood. He knew the man's flavour now, his form would be aggressive and ruthless. There was something in his head – he felt like he was blindly tracing the edges of something through thick padding. He would have to keep his distance from the searing edge of the lightsaber while he tried to puzzle it out.

The pureblood had no reason to fear and attacked with an arcing slash that would have severed Jhresh's torso from his body had he not darted backwards. Already his legs were shaky and weak and his breath caught in his throat but still he dug deeper into his endurance. He knew he was no match physically for the giant, that had been proven over and over. As the pureblood jabbed towards him and he raised his arms instinctively to fend off the glowing blade of light, again he was struck by the forceful intuition that there was a solution to this riddle. He needed the Force, he was nothing without it.

He walked a narrow path between life and death, bounded on all sides by a shifting hissing light. He danced and ducked, weaved himself out of the pureblood's reach, tiring quickly. And then he saw it. The price of power. The realisation almost cost him his life as he tensed, and the tip of the saber scored a sizzling line across his shoulder. It was nothing compared to what was to come.

Jhresh set his jaw. He would pay it gladly!

The pureblood must have seen something in the set of his expression for he shifted stance, taking his left hand from the hilt. At the next attack Jhresh did something unexpected. Instead of leaping aside he turned into the attack, raising his arm as if to block the slice. The light sheared through his wrist and Jhresh screamed in agony and joy. His hand tumbled through the air, the metal bracelet around his severed wrist winking as it span. Power burst through him as if caught behind a crumbling dam. An eye opened in his mind and he saw once more in all the shades of the Force – the boiling rage of the Sith across from him, the terrible power that rolled from his red body in waves and above it all the presence of another. Most of all he felt mighty once more. His emotions and pain and turmoil were a bonfire within him and he harnessed it all, set a yoke upon the storm and made it manifest.

A tempest erupted from him - eyes arcing electricity, fingers dragging whip lines of lightning which he directed at his foe. The pureblood tried to defend himself but it was too sudden, too much. He was lifted from the ground, hurled through a cyclone, his red body spasming with the hostile energies before being slammed down, tossed away by the fist of an angry storm. The maelstrom took long moments to die down, as if Jhresh had given life to his fury. Standing straight, cloaked in a shimmering aura of power, his stump cauterised and smoking he held out his hand, willing his lightsaber to his side.

He was complete once more. His body may have been broken but it was nothing, a humble cage for his will and his mastery. He could see clearly once more, how pathetic he was without the Force. If anything this demonstration, this game, had proven that to him. He ignored the red hump that groaned and twitched and stared into the camera that had observed his battles. With a frown he crushed it.

He choose a door at random and smashed it. The first push crumpled the metal like it was cardboard; the next tore it from its hinges completely.

'I am coming...' he muttered.

He would not be caught unawares again. If this power over minds was some apocryphal power of the Force then he would unearth it, turn it on those who would use-

A darkness descended, unyielding and irresistible.

 

*

This was not like waking from sleep.

Awareness struck him like a slap. There was nothing and then the cacophony of senses.

The softness of the bed beneath him. The ache and throbbing of his bruised and abused body, the needle pain of fractured bones and cut skin.

The searing acid pain of his severed hand.


End file.
